


PTB Homework 2014

by JennaReads



Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer, game of thrones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaReads/pseuds/JennaReads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The assorted assignments from PTB's Smut University Class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pre-Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's that time again! Fun times with PTB's sexy lessons. This first is the “pre-assignment” and pretty much a complete tangent for me, unlike anything I've done before. It's different, but it was fun, nonetheless.  
> As always, disclaimers, disclaimers, disclaimers.

Drogo: Suck me off, Daenerys

I stared at the strip of bright pink text signaling a private message that glared back at me from the bottom left of my monitor. Sudden nervous energy, liberally laced with instant desire, had me shifting position in my computer chair. My fingers flying over the keyboard, I quickly entered a response.

Daenerys: I can’t…we’re raiding!  


And we were. Above and below the sharp aggression of Drogo’s demand, my guild’s golden chatter filled the chat box. Silliness and map call-outs scrolled by, even as my guild leader barked out his commands of “on me” in my headset.  
My hand moved to my mouse, and in an instant my pretty little character ran back into the guild stack, ostensibly awaiting the leader’s next command, but my eyes darted over and over to the chat box. Knowing Drogo, at least this part of the infamously predatory enemy guild leader, he wouldn’t let me off the hook with that perfectly legitimate excuse.  
Drogo: Fuck your raid.  


Impatient, caustic and inherently dominant, the brightly-colored text interrupted the scrolling chatter. I shifted in the computer chair, rubbing the palm of one hand over the bare skin of my thigh, my breath coming a little more shallow than ten minutes ago as my body recognized what was happening.  


Words. Simple, unspoken words wrought with the power to wreck my concentration, not to mention my game.  


I tried to pacify him again, a little delay, I thought, so I can support my guild like a good player.  


Daenerys: Drogo, I can’t…my guildies need a healer…  


His words disappeared from the chat box as my guild repositioned. Thoroughly distracted, I vaguely processed that we were stacking up, preparing to push a guild from the opposing server at the ruins. I looked across the gorgeously designed digital paradise of toppled stones, boulders, strategically placed trees to search the edge of a bridge. The familiar, intimidating guild tag of the players gathered there captured my attention and I felt my pulse jump. Heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, I filtered the calls of my guild leader as he prepped us for the imminent fight.  


Drogo: Daenerys, you’re going to wrap your lips around my big brown cock.  


Drogo, the reigning king within this limitless, animated world, seemed to stare back at me from his position at the edge of the bridge.  


Drogo: Fuck your raid. Fuck your guild.  


Daenerys: I’m needed, stop distracting me.  


Drogo: You need to suck me off.  


They were just lines of text, but I could feel the dominance, the intention, behind them. My body responded to the aggression lacing every syllable, my skin burning, my belly tightening.  
I studied the screen, taking in the mass of characters--the fantastical costumes and armors, the array of mystical weaponry--all representing players sitting behind a keyboard just like me. I’d started this game as a way to take a mental break, check out of my day-to-day routine, and while it continued to serve that purpose, my enthusiasm had increased to the point where I’d become hugely competitive within these guild versus guild fights. As a consequence, I’d become obsessed with what guilds were winning the most fights, with who dominated, who didn’t.  


The group massed across from me sat uncontested at the top of that list, the ultimate alphas in this competitive arena, led by Drogo, the most ferocious alpha in the pack.  
Drogo: I’m going to kill them all.  


I blinked, shifted in the chair.  


Daenerys: Perhaps.  


Drogo: Kill them all until you’re the only one left standing.  


Heat rushed through me, my thighs clenching and I marveled—half mystified, half resigned—at how this man, this unseen man sitting somewhere behind a keyboard, could elicit such a strong physical response in me. He never failed to create erotic scenarios that titillated my senses and brought me more and more under his thrall. I struggled to maintain my usual flirty persona.  


Daenerys: Bring it on, Badass.  


Drogo: And then I’m going to fuck you, as your men lay dead at your feet. Fuck you as my men watch.  


I was still processing his words, as though reading in slow motion, when my guild leader barked out the command to engage in my headset. We maneuvered and fought, I dropped my heals as best as I could, but in moments, my guildmates fell, one after the other, the calls of “down!” echoing in my ears.  


With trembling fingers, I brought my character to a standstill in the center of the decimated field. True to his word, Drogo stood before me, his men spread out behind him.  


Drogo: To your knees, Daenerys.  


The sounds in my headset faded until my only focus was Drogo. I pressed the command and watched my little character sink submissively before the warlord. Whatever came next would come through my chat box, or so I thought.  


Drogo: Skype. Now.  


Obediently, I muted myself in the guild comms and signed into Skype. I answered the chime the moment it sounded, closing my eyes as his voice growled down the line. “The spoils of war, Daenerys. Pull me out.”  


Until Drogo, I’d never imagined I’d be involved in something like this, in this erotic role play in a massive online game. In fact, I probably would have laughed at the concept.  


But as his voice rippled through me, thickly saturated with dominance and power, I slipped into my role unhesitatingly. I spoke whisper-soft into my mic. “My eyes darting up to your face, my fingers fumble with the closures of your armor until I can reach your cock. Already hard, it thrust against my soft touch.”  


“Mouth, Daenerys. Now”  


“I raise up on my knees, wrapping my fingers around the thick brown shaft. Leaning forward, I let my breath feather against the tip…”  


His voice deepened, his growl making me clench my thighs. “I fist my hand in your hair, guiding your mouth to my cock. Open, Daenerys.”  


“Loving the feel of your hand in my hair, the control you take from me, I open and take you into my warm mouth, my fingers wrapped around the base of your powerful cock.”  


“Mmm, good girl. I thrust, forcing my cock deeper, forcing you to take every inch.”  


I can't help the soft sigh that escapes my lips as his voice penetrates my senses. “So deep I feel you at the back of my throat, my eyes watering, my belly clenching in a confusing blend of arousal and fright.”  


“I pull out, haul you to your feet, and my hand still fisted in your hair, I turn you to face your dead guild. Flipping up your skirt, I shove you against the nearest boulder.”  


I gasp, his words creating a vivid image in my mind. “My scalp stings until you release my hair to spin me around. The cool air raises prickles along my bare skin, but I'm helpless against your demands.”  


“My hand holding you against the boulder, I don't give you time to try and avoid me, thrusting inside that pussy, hard and fast and deep.”  


“Drogo,” I whisper brokenly. “I moan, uncertain if its still in fear or more out of a desperate sort of desire...my body wet and slick and unbearably sensitive...and I know you know the truth...”  


“Gripping your sweet white ass, shoving in deep, rocking you against the boulder, I thrust again and again. Fucking your pussy, taking what's mine, what I've won with my sword.”  


“My fingers claw for purchase as I feel myself clench around your thick cock, knowing you're going to make me come soon, knowing I’m helpless under your control, knowing that your men are watching, seeing my ultimate surrender.”  


“I pull out at the last second, spewing my possession over your ass. Leaning forward, I grip your hair and force you to look back. Mine, Daenerys.”  


My voice barely more than a breath of sound, I answer. “Yours”  


A sound, incongruous, out of place and abrupt had me glancing over my shoulder. I was alone in the apartment, and the only sounds should have been my game and the erotic voice in my headset. Thinking some random sound must have drifted in from the street below, I turned back to the monitor.  


Drogo was quiet in my ear. I darted a look at the chat box, but nothing there, either.  


Tentatively, I whispered his name into my mic. “Drogo?”  


The unmistakable pounding of a fist on my door made me jump, but his words stole my breath. “Open the door, Daenerys.”


	2. Lesson 1: Action and Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson 1: Action and Reaction by Jonesn (L.C. Morgan) July 2, 2014
> 
> Assignment: Use the gif prompt to write an exchange of action and reaction. Remember to be aware of your characters surroundings. What are they thinking, seeing, feeling, smelling, tasting?

The scent of burning wood filled the night air. Curiosity pulled me deeper into the wooded area behind my apartment building. In the distance, I could just make out the erratic motion of flickering flames. Soon the woods opened up into a little clearing, a tall bonfire filling the space in the center. Before I could approach the fire, a couple twirled into view, moving around the bonfire with pagan enthusiasm. I froze, my eyes watching the pair as they spun and moved.

Feeling guiltily like a voyeur, I lingered in the shadows. Something about the couple held my attention and while I knew I should give them the privacy they obviously desired, I didn't turn around to leave. He was back there. Not unwelcome, but the last couple of days had been filled with more emotional upheaval than any woman should ever have to cope with. I needed this little walk in the dark to try and gain some sort of perspective.

The unknown boy twirled his girl again, and she gracefully moved closer to him, leaned up to accept his quick, awkward kiss. Quick and light and speaking eloquently of the innocence of youth. I watched, mesmerized by the flames, by their dance, by the quiet of the night.

Until I felt his presence force back the night and invade my senses.

He moved up behind me. His proximity overshadowed the distant warmth of the bonfire with something more intense, something dark and seductive.

Moments passed, tension inevitably prickling my skin. When he finally spoke, even knowing he was there, I jumped. 

"What do you think of when you look at them?"

I sucked in a slow, even breath, desperate to not reveal the magnitude of his effect on me. "Love," I said on a whispered breath.

His hands landed on my hips, heavy, implacable. "That's not love."

I frowned. I wanted to believe in the love of innocents. As the couple twirled once more around the bonfire, I wondered if I'd ever felt such innocent passion.

Drogo—Edward, I silently corrected myself—pulled my hips until he had me pressed against his front. I felt his strength at my back like an immovable wall. His voice a low growl, he murmured against my temple, "That's children playing at being in love. Children dancing and twirling and infatuated with the idea of being in love."

His hand slid from my hip to my belly, holding me wedged against him with heavy authority. Despite a sense of slipping into the inevitable, I shook my head. “They look happy.”

His hand slid beneath the hem of my shirt, his palm hot on my skin. “Is that what you want?” He drew his hand over my belly, this thumb brushing the underside of my breast. My nipple instantly pebbled, chaffing against the fabric of my bra. “ Fireside fumblings?” 

His voice, moist and warm against my temple, seduced. His touch riveted. I was his creature, a fact he recognized and relished. He slid his other hand beneath my waistband, until his little finger rested just at the top of my sex, taunting, tempting, tethering me intimately.

“Or perhaps,” he murmured as he expertly shoved the annoyance my bra out of his way. “Perhaps it's time you accepted the reality.”

The reality of being at his mercy? Powerless to my body, to the sensations he wrought so effortlessly, the yielding, the unresisting passage of my self-control to him. My eyes fixed on the pair now slow dancing before the fire, silhouettes shifting, swaying in the firelight. The night sounds of the glade mixed with the snap and crackle of the bonfire, lulling me deeper into the strange, unreal reality that had become my life.

His large hand moved up again, covering my breast, his palm rubbing against my nipple. I shuddered, falling more into him, my shoulders, my back pressed against his strong length. I felt his erection, hard and thick, at the top of my ass. I struggled to hold up my end of our conversation. “What reality?”

His lower hand shifted at my question, sinking down, sliding between my folds. “This reality.” One thick finger moved, rubbing heavily over my clit before slipping easily to my entrance, stopping just short of pushing inside. “That you're wet with wanting me. With wanting what I do to you.”

I clenched my eyes closed, blocking out the sight of the innocents, absorbed by his caresses, his words. Embarrassment and desire blended, his truth, his recognition of my unhesitating response to him, undoing me.

“Open your eyes, my Daenerys.” He squeezed my breast. “Open and watch them.”

I did as commanded, unquestioningly. That he used the name Daenerys should have bemused me, but it didn't. With him, I was both Bella and Daenerys, the two facets of my life blending in an unexpected way since his forceful arrival into my reality. My eyes fixed on the couple. Shrouded in darkness, they seemed unaware of our presence. But as Drogo finally sank his finger inside me, as my body clenched around him in desperate need, I struggled not to moan aloud.

He pumped his finger, slow and deep, the heel of his hand rubbing against the top of my sex until my legs weakened and I knew only his hold, his strength, kept me upright. “You don't want a boy.” He pushed deep, twisted his hand, shoved a second finger in, and I couldn't help the little moan that escaped then. “You want what I give you, what I take from you.”

He tipped his head down, nuzzled my hair out of his way. His mouth, open and wet, slid down my neck to the curve above my shoulder. I felt his teeth mark me and shuddered.

Completely under his thrall, I watched the couple as Drogo—Edward—worked my body. I felt the wetness of my response to him, easing his passage even as he quickened the thrusts of his fingers. The slick sounds of his touch should have shamed me, but they didn't. My belly clenched, my thighs spreading until I was on my tip toes, desperate for more of his touch.

His creature, I thought faintly, my mind blurring, but my eyes wide, unable to disobey. Utterly his creature.

His thumb flicked my nipple, over and over. His mouth sucked at my flesh, the sharp pleasure-sting of his bite an erotic torture. But his fingers inside me, relentless and unmerciful, shoved and twisted and finally drove me over the edge.

Heat exploded and I cried out, the couple, even as they filled my vision, forgotten. My every sense centered on the man surrounding me, encompassing me with his incomprehensible power. My legs gave way and I felt his fingers sink even deeper as he crushed me closer. My body clenched and spasmed around him, my pulse a riot beneath my skin.

He raised his lips from my neck to growl into my ear, wordless sounds of his pleasure. He slowed his fingers, still touching me, still deep and possessive, but moving almost softly, soothingly as he gentled me. “Look.”

The couple, he meant the couple. I searched the glade, waited for them to come around the bonfire. But as the moments passed, I realized they were gone. “Did they hear me?”

He shrugged and I felt the powerful motion from shoulders to thighs. “I'm going to fuck you in front of that fire.”

He pulled his hand from me, grunting in satisfaction as his wrought another shudder with that simple action. He moved around me, grasped my hand and unresisting, I followed.

His creature, I thought as he directed me down. The wicked play of firelight over his tall form enthralled me. As my lover sank down over me, the thought replayed over and over in my mind, until his touch stole my ability to think. 

I was his creature, utterly his creature.


	3. Lesson 2: The Right Amount of Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assignment: Your homework is to write the same scene three ways: bland, medium and spicy. Use the photo prompt below to create your scene. You can start with any one of the three, and then add or take away from it as necessary.

**Bland:**

I heard the soft click of the door latching and my breath hitched. In moments, he'd stripped me down to a pretty little pair of lace panties and his lips nuzzled across my belly. One large hand covering my breast, the other curled around my inner thigh, he kept me at his mercy. With masterful touches to persuasive caresses, he coaxed me to pleasure, only to leave me gasping and writhing on the cusp. Later, I would think I yielded too easily. Later, I would wonder about the depth of his control and my response. But for now, all I could only feel.

 

** Medium: **

The sound of the front door latching echoed in the quiet apartment. I turned to face him as he strode closer, my eyes widening as he reached back and tugged his shirt off. A second later, he wrapped his hand at the nape of my neck and held me still for a quick, hard kiss. He shuffled me into the bedroom, stripping me as we moved, my pulse pounding in rampant expectation

As he settled beside me on the bed, even the silken sheets teased my sensitive skin. Sensual anticipation became a warm thrum in my blood as his hands trailed over my body, subtly positioning me for his pleasure and my own. When he pressed a kiss at the slope of my breast, I arched up. He moved down, but one strong hand across my chest kept me firmly pressed into the bed.

“Still, my girl.”

His breath a warm caress over my fluttering belly, I struggled to follow his direction. But my fingers fisted in the sheets as he tugged my leg up, wedging his arm underneath. When he dragged his fingers down my inner thigh, once, twice, again, my hips bucked and a tiny, plaintive moan escaped my lips.

As expected, he ignored my protest, tugging at my senses with his perfect touches, his masterful patience my undoing. As I struggled to control my movement, struggled not to writhe beneath him, my mind swirled with frightening thoughts, wondering why I yielded so easily to this man, how I could get so lost to his touch that nothing else mattered.

But as his tongue delved into my every crevice and he laved each curve, thought became impossible. As he pushed me over the edge of desire into pure sensation, I forgot to be frightened of my responses and surrendered to the ecstasy he wrought so easily.

 

**Spicy:**

The sound of the front door latching echoed in the quiet apartment. I turned to face him as strode toward me, my eyes widening as he reached back and tugged his shirt off. His eyes burned with a wicked intent that had my breath hitching deep in my chest. A second later, he wrapped his hand at the nape of my neck and held me still for a quick, hard kiss. Desire unfurled, quick and intense. He shuffled me down the hall, into the bedroom, stripping me as we moved, my top lost in the living room, my shorts in the hallway, a trail that left me in only sheer black lace panties beside the bed.

“Lay down.”

I moved to comply, pretending to relax back onto the pillows, but as he settled beside me on the bed, even the silken rustle of the sheets teased my sensitive skin. Sensual anticipation became a warm thrum in my blood as he seemed to study me, running the blunt edge of his thumb along my jaw, down my neck, smoothing over my shoulders, moving down to cup my breasts, subtly positioning me for his pleasure and my own. When he pressed a kiss at the slope of my breast, I arched up, but he moved down, dismissing my invitation. One strong hand lodged across my chest, keeping me firmly pressed into the bed, even as I writhed in protest.

“Still, my girl.”

His breath a warm caress over my fluttering belly, I struggled to follow his direction. His tongue swirled over my navel, teasing but not lingering. When he tugged my leg up, wedging his arm underneath, my fingers fisted in the sheets. Clamping down on my lower lip when he dragged his fingers down my inner thigh, once, twice, my hips bucked and a tiny, plaintive moan finally escaped my lips.

As expected, he ignored my protest, tugging at my senses with a hot, wet kiss right above the lace of my panties. I wanted them gone, wanted him closer, over me, inside me. Heat radiated from him, scorching my skin and lighting a fire deep in my core. He pushed my legs up, tugging the lace away until he'd bared me completely. For a passing instant, I wanted to shield myself, but then he caught my eyes and I read the intensity there, the pleasure dilating his pupils and instead I spread my thighs wide.

He murmured a low, appreciative growl, the sound vibrating through me. I wanted to scream, to demand, to beg, but then his hand cupped me, his fingers spreading me and I felt his breath whisper over my slick folds. He slid one long finger inside with maddening slowness, his masterful patience undoing me.

As I struggled to control my movement, struggled not to twist beneath him, my mind swirled with frightening thoughts, wondering why I yielded so easily to this man, how I could get so lost to his touch that nothing else mattered.

His finger slid out, and before I could moan a protest, he'd opened his mouth over my clit, sucking quick and hard, so startling and intense, I arched up against him, crying out with the fierceness of my response.

But as his tongue delved into my every crevice and he laved each curve, thought became impossible. His hands gripped my thighs, his head buried between my legs. Wicked pleasure swelled inside me until my every muscle tightened with need. His tongue slid, flat and taut, along my sex only to flick at my clit with erotic promise.

I fought not to move, but failed, pressing up against the torture of his touch. He anchored me with his arms under my thighs, controlling me easily. His tongue flicked and probed, and the orgasm that had been hovering just out of reach finally crested. As he pushed me over the edge of desire into pure decadent sensation, I forgot to be frightened of my responses and surrendered to the blazing ecstasy he wrought with such ease.

 

 


	4. Lesson 4: UST and the Art of a Slow Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lesson 4: UST and the Art of a Slow Burn by Hoodfabulous
> 
> Assignment: Use the photo prompt above to write a UST scene. Notice their lips aren't touching. The kiss hasn't yet occurred. I call this the “almost kiss.”

“One more second!”

I didn't bother responding, but closed the apartment door and moved into the tiny apartment kitchen. With my friend’s history, I'd be waiting a while as she finished getting dressed for our girls’ night out.

A few minutes later I’d zoned out playing Candy Crush on my phone when the door abruptly swung open behind me; I jerked my gaze up to stare at the intrusion.

_He_ strode inside, instantly sucking all the air out of the room. I straightened away from the kitchen counter, sizzling awareness suddenly heightening my senses. Basketball shorts hung low on his tall frame, and with the ball tucked under one arm, he looked the image of perfect health. Wet tendrils of hair curled over his ears, his neck, and I clenched my hands into a fist to fight the need to slide my fingers into them.

As usual, he didn’t speak. But then, neither did I. We never did unless surrounded by our friends. Even then, we both seemed to guard our words, saying as little as possible. As though the slightest misspoken word might reveal this strange maelstrom of unacknowledged attraction that surged between us.

He approached, his slow, rolling gait oozing lithe control and wicked temptation. I shifted until my back braced against the wall between the living room and the fridge. When he stopped square in front of me, my breath hitched deep in my chest. Edgy tension filled me, anticipation curling my toes.

His eyes never leaving mine, he leaned past me, the masculine scent of sweat and exercise wafting up and teasing my senses in a way I’d never have believed possible before this man’s invasion into my safe little world. He jerked open the fridge, leaned farther to snag a bottle of water. A snap of cold air whipped over me as he shut the fridge door. I forced a slow, measured exhale as he straightened directly.

Despite the little brush of cold, heat radiated off the man in front of me. Sweat still glistened across his bare chest. When he twisted the cap off the water and tilted it up to take a long drag, my eyes focused on a bead of sweat rolling lazily down the taut length of his throat, glistening over the sculpted curve of his collarbone, over his pectoral, and then farther south. I fixed my gaze over his shoulder, absolutely refusing to imagine that little bead rolling over the ripped muscles of his abs to disappear into his low-riding basketball shorts.

The silence grew too long, my pulse too loud in my ears. Just to break the uncomfortable quiet between us, I whispered, “She’s in the bedroom. Getting ready.”

His gaze roamed lingeringly before settling on my face. Weeks of hidden looks, inadvertent touches came to a head in the space of a minute.

Heat poured off him, scorching my skin, wreaking havoc with my equilibrium. He drew the water bottle along the corded length of his neck. I followed his motions, my gaze fastened on his hand, my mind instantly flashing to images of his fingers touching me, cold and wet from the bottle, sliding over my skin, sure and strong.

Heat flushed my face, erotic tension coiled low in my belly. I jerked my gaze away from his chest just in time to catch the glint of satisfaction in his green eyes.

“Blue or silver heels?”

Her voice cut between us then, an abrupt and wrenching reminder of time and place. I expected him to pull back, to move into the living room and leave me in the molten little puddle of frustrated desire I’d become accustomed to since he’d invaded our little social circle. But for the first time, he didn’t move, didn’t reposition or try to pretend that this molten undercurrent of attraction didn’t snap and fire between us.

Instead, he propped one forearm on the wall over my head, leaned close and murmured against my temple, “Answer her.”

I stared up at him as he eased slightly back again, watching me expectantly. Yeah, I thought, I’d answer her. If I didn’t, the girl would come barreling out that much sooner. “Blue.” I refused to be embarrassed by the quiver in my voice even as his lips kicked up in an almost-grin. My chin popped up stubbornly and I called out louder, “Blue!”

“Good girl.”

His words rippled over me, curled through me, until expectation poised hot and wet between my thighs.

I wanted to be his good girl. Since the moment of our first meeting, we’d been building toward this. Accidental touches, heated looks, forced closeness building a tormenting craving the likes of which I’d never experienced before. I wanted to run my hands over the sweat-slick skin of his chest more than I wanted my next breath.

Tremulous, but not uncertain, I reached out and touched him, sliding my fingers over the strong contours of his stomach, around to his back, feeling the rhythm of his breathing stutter then quicken.

Finally, a voice whispered in the back of my mind. _Finally._

He leaned close again, his rich, masculine scent permeating my senses, enthralling me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him toss the water bottle aside, heard the clatter of it hitting the sink, but I registered this only in the periphery, for as soon as he’d emptied his hand, he was touching me.

He laid his large palm--those long, talented fingers--against my cheek, my jaw, my neck, tilting my face up. Even chilled from the water, his palm seared into me, the single touch at once delivering notice of his total control and unmitigated power…and my unconditional acquiescence.

His thumb brushed the corner of my lip, testing, teasing. When I flicked my tongue out, his gaze dropped to my lips and I stopped breathing.

Almost unconsciously, my fingers dug into his back, a meager pressure to a man so utterly disciplined.

One day, I thought as he lowered his head, as his lips came close, one day I wanted to see his face when he lost all restraint. See his expression as he powered into me, the moment when ecstasy and release contorted his too-handsome features and he became unquestionably _mine_.

His hand tilted my chin up again, his thumb against my lower lip and I pushed up on my tiptoes to meet him, to receive the kiss I desperately wanted.

The sound of a bedroom door swinging shut echoed like a blast into the room. My heart jolted, then pounded out a raging staccato rhythm. Fuck my life.

He pushed off the wall, moving lazily into the living area, passing my best friend. “’Sup.”

Oblivious, she passed him with a happy smile until she caught sight of me slumped against the kitchen wall. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Being all antisocial?”

I shoved away from the wall, studiously did not look toward the living room and bent to grab the bag I didn’t even realize I’d dropped. I looked pointedly at her shoes. “Silver?”

She shrugged, fussed with something on the counter, then turned back to me. “Ready?”

For a minute, I thought I heard a grumbling laugh from the direction of the living room, but quickly decided I couldn’t afford to look. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

 


End file.
